


Time After Time

by Xanister



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst and Humor, British Comedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship/Love, M/M, Multi, Rivyan - Freeform, SPG is a total badass, Slash, Warnings May Change, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanister/pseuds/Xanister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a party, Vyvyan hooked up. Vyvyan isn't sure why this makes Rick so upset or why he's worried about Rick being upset. The OFC is not a central character and only features heavily in the first chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to the people who kept me going writing this. You b'stards on Skype are awesome.

“Congratulations, Vyvyan Basterd! You are the new lager-drinking champion! Here is your prize: an unlimited supply of lager and here is a bird that already thinks you are amazingly clever and handsome and can't wait to have a little wriggle with you! She’s even going to help you get home from the pub! Give him a round of applause, ladies and gentlemen!”

Vyvyan smiled and wriggled slightly in his sleep, brushing against a warm and soft body that was far too smooth, large and clean to be SPG. His dream broke but the body remained. He opened an eye suspiciously. The other body was still warm and seemingly human. The punk attempted to orientate himself through the dry mouth, pounding headache and body aches only a night drinking and pummeling Neil could accomplish. The long hair he had to pull off his forehead studs only confirmed it.

He was sleeping the right way ‘round, that was new, and as he wiggled his filthy socks he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t even wearing his boots, let alone the rest of his kit.

He opened his other eye, pushing the blanket down a bit to stare at the woman who now was staring back at him.

“Welcome to the land of the living," she said, a soft voice with a lingering accent he couldn’t quite place. She pulled the covers closer to her chin, covering up her chest but doing so quietly rather than quickly. She had brown hair, not the red-tinted blonde of his dream. Her eyes were a muddy green-brown, too much of a real-life touch for this to be the dream continuing.

“Ah, haha, hello,” Vyvyan replied, swallowing around the the Sahara desert in his mouth. She was talking to him, not shrieking or hitting him. This threw him off balance. “This is a silly question,” he paused to chuckle nervously, “but you’re a proper girl, aren’t you? I will admit that a couple of my flatmates are very, very girly, but you look like a proper girl.”

The proper girl smiled and reached over to pat Vyv on the head, smoothing out a dented part of his tri-hawk. He flinched but she didn’t seem to notice.

“You did have a lot to drink last night, didn’t you? Yes, I’m a girl and if what we did last night is any indication, you are a very proper boy.” She winked and Vyvyan responded with something akin to a modest giggle. He was now completely confused. He was very happy that he was no longer a virgin, apparently, but he was very, very confused. Apparently losing your virginity wasn’t like breaking an arm or at least like getting a real big whacking bruise. The punk didn’t seem to be sore like he expected he would be, other than the usual party after-effects and general malaise from his rough and tumble lifestyle. He didn’t even remember losing it.

He felt her trail a hand down his arm under the covers, and goose bumps appeared on the surface despite the warmth of the blanket. She pushed back, sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, letting the covers drift behind her. She started to put on clothes, babbling about having a good time and wondering why she hadn’t known about him before; he should come to college more often. Vyvyan smiled politely as he eyed the way she put on a bra with a curiosity of someone who had never seen it done.

Shards of memory came back to him like a bad clip show. Watching Mike showing off near the kitchen table and graciously offering some girls a place to sleep (with him) and a pretty girl with brown hair and muddy green eyes slapping him and storming away to steal a drink from Neil.

There was lots of drinking. He remembered imprisoning Rick in the fridge with the moldy things that some suspected were alive at one point - and still were - and delighting in the angry shrieks. A smile played on his lips. Those shrieks quickly became pandering apologies for things he didn’t even do. Rick would say anything to get out of the fridge and back to the party. All this was overlaid with music he didn’t particularly like. Still, this was far better than the Cliff Richard Rick insisted on playing with running commentary on how “ah-mazing” Cliff was. He remembered him trying that at the beginning of the party. That was probably why he shoved him into the fridge. He smiled at the thought.

His bed companion noticed the smile on his face and, thinking she was the cause, she sashayed her hips a little as she pulled her jeans up. “You liked the view last night, too. I thought you were going to cry when I took my shirt off.” That brought him out of his thoughts. There was no malice in her tone, just a little teasing but it was warm. “Not that my view was shit. Even drunk, you’re pretty.” She buttoned her jeans and then sat next to Vyvyan to put on her shoes, ones that could easily be mistaken for Rick’s red winkle-pickers. In fact, the black and red punk band shirt with leather jacket she was wearing really reminded him of something Rick used to wear.

With her fully dressed and him wearing socks and a blanket, he decided to avoid trying to get up and get dressed.

“Pass me those?” he squeaked out, referring to the clothes he usually slept in, feeling shy despite last nights adventures. He pulled the covers tighter around him, trying to draw attention away from the bulge in the dirty blanket. He heard her chuckle as she tossed him his pants and jeans with a flick of her wrist. He caught them and turned away as he pulled them on, feeling like he should be embarrassed that they weren’t even remotely clean.

“Your pal Mike could learn a thing or two about modesty from you, Vyvyan. He has the lamest pick-up lines… not that yours are any better. He could teach you how to wash clothes, though. I thought your socks were going to come to life and try to make a run for it.” Vyv’s eyes widened slightly. She didn’t know about the Laundromat, and Vyvyan definitely wasn’t going to tell her about it.

They could both hear what was presumably Rick stomping around in the bathroom, occasional singing and talking drifting into the room. Vyvyan made a point of taking his time, he didn’t want to run into Rick in the hall, best to go downstairs with some swagger. When the stomping went downstairs he continued dressing, glancing at SPG’s cage where the creature was ripping apart what was once the sleeve of Neil’s shirt. Vyvyan didn’t know, or care, whether the red on the fabric was part of the fabric or an addition from the taking of the sleeve. Leaving his boots for last he finally pulled them on after his shirt and vest. He grinned when he saw the deflated condom lying near the head of the bed. It was a wonderfully disgusting sight. He had had it off with a girl! A cool girl who wasn’t screaming at him yet or anything! He didn’t even know her name; well, he didn’t remember her name.

“So uh,” Vyvyan said, setting about tying his boots for the sole reason that he didn’t have to look at her when he asked the question. “Now that I know you’re real, what’s your name? You seem to have me at a disadvantage.” He had heard that phrase on telly once and it seemed like the right time to use it. He rounded his shoulders a bit, fully expecting to be hit or something to be thrown at him. Instead, she laughed, patting him gently on the shoulder and tipping his head up.

“My name’s Richelle and you’re Vyvyan, in case you forgot that too. It’s no disadvantage, just means I get a do-over on my introduction. You don’t.” She kissed the very tip of his nose then gave him a playful shove. “But it’s Richelle, not Ricki like you were calling me last night. I hate that nickname. Come on, I need to go and I’m not doing the walk of shame without you.”

Vyvyan scrunched up his face but stood up and opened the door of his bedroom for her, shutting it behind them. “I just need my bag, then I’m gone,” she said over her shoulder as they started down the steps. “This was fun.” 

Richelle reached the bottom of the stairs and went into the kitchen with Vyvyan close on her heels. He knew this as a typical Sunday morning. Evidence of the party was everywhere and the table was covered in cans. Neil stood with his back to them, busy stirring something on the stove and talking about something, his splattered shirt missing the right sleeve from three-quarters of the way up. Mike was at the head of the table in pajamas and a bathrobe, reading a newspaper; Rick was facing Mike and talking at Mike who clearly wasn’t listening.

Mike glanced up when Vyvyan and Richelle came into his peripheral vision, setting down the paper and waving his hand. “Shut up, Rick.”

“You don’t need to be rude, Mike, it is a _rather_ interesting story once you get over the fact that she had short hair --”

“Shut up, Rick, there’s a lady in the room,” Mike interrupted, and stood.

Rick snorted out a laugh. “There are no ladies here, don’t be silly.” Still, the anarchist turned his head in a dramatic fashion, gaped, and threw himself onto his feet. “You’re that girl from last night, you laughed at me stuck in the fwidge!”

Richelle coughed out a laugh, pushing past him and grabbing her messenger bag near the corner of the table, straightening and throwing it over her head so it crossed her body. “You wouldn’t come out of the _fwidge_ ,” she mocked, crossing her arms. “It was open! That’s funny!” Vyvyan laughed behind her, he didn’t remember that but the anger on Rick’s face helped to validate it.

“I was unconscious!” Rick whined loudly at Richelle, but Vyvyan could tell Mike and Neil were focused on the punk’s mussed up hair and kept looking at the closeness between their two bodies. It was Rick, unsurprisingly, who spoke up. "You slept with her?! She probably has diseases, Vyvyan!” The tone was incredulous but Vyvyan could have sworn that Rick looked hurt. He was pouting a bit more than usual.

“Are you jealous, Rick?” Vyv’s smile split into his Cheshire grin and he decided to ham it up a bit more, not for Richelle but perhaps spurred on by the circumstances and her laughing. “Do you want some of this?” He dramatically ran his hands everywhere, licking his lips and wiggling his nose ring with his upper lip.

Rick gagged repeatedly, dramatically throwing himself at Vyvyan with a raised fist. Taking a step back, Vyvyan braced himself before delivering a single swift right hook, dropping Rick in one hit to the dirty, stained carpet. Vyvyan turned his attention back to Richelle and she kissed his cheek before waving at Mike (who had remained disturbingly quiet through the whole thing), crossing the floor and shutting the door behind her.

It was then that Mike spoke up. “Vyvyan, we need to talk.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented or sent kudos! As always all the love to everyone who puts up with me talking about this fic all the time.

It was only a few minutes before Rick began to rouse on the carpet but he stayed down. Little noises came out of him as Vyvyan took his normal spot at the table next to Mike. “What is it Michael?”   
   
“We have rules in this house, Vyvyan.”   
   
“I didn’t hit him that hard, Mike!" Vyvyan protested, gesturing defensively with his hands. "He’s just being a little girl like he always is!”   
   
“I don’t mean Rick, I mean girls at parties. We all agreed who gets what. House rules. That is to say I get the girls and you lot get the parties. If a girl is confused and slaps this handsome face instead of snogging it, you don’t take her to bed, you get me?” Vyvyan went from confused to looking slightly crestfallen but nodded his agreement, stabbing the sharp metal into the table and standing.   
   
Rick was on his feet now, brushing off his blazer and looking serious with his hands on hips. “So what are you suggesting Mike? You take all the birds... I mean women, and we turn into big poofs and run away with each other?”   
   
The ginger punk laughed loud and sarcastically. He didn't know why he was laughing that loudly, it wasn't that funny. “You’d just love that wouldn’t you Rick, everyone turning into a big poof like you, all drooling over you and wanting to touch your bottom!”     
   
Without hesitation Rick took a few steps forward, his voice scaling up. “Don't give me that bucko, you’d be first in line!” Rick's finger stabbed into Vyvyan's t-shirt clad chest.  
   
“To bash your face in!" A pause and then a grin. "Looks like someone did it already!” Vyv had stood up, coming around the table to be almost nose-to-nose with Rick.   
   
“Guys! Guys! See what’s happening? We’re fighting because of women!” Neil drawled, he added some red liquid that wasn’t ketchup to the lentils on the stove. “Can’t we all just –“  
   
Rick and Vyvyan, without turning or releasing their holds on the others blazer and vest, shouted their response in tandem. "SHUT UP NEIL!”   
   
Neil furrowed his brow and turned back to the pot of lentils. “There’s no need to shout and get all heavy. That’s okay though, I’m just Neil, I just make the tea and like, do everything in the house even though no one listens to me…” He drifted off. Not that anyone was listening to begin with: even the lentils were ignoring him, and they were dead.   
   
"Don't need to worry about Vyvyan, Mike, that girl just felt sorry for him!" Rick said mockingly.  
   
A look of shock, hurt and then fury flashed across Vyvyan's pierced and studded features. With a shove, Vyvyan disentangled himself from the Anarchist. The force launched Rick over the tattered couch; arse-over-tea kettle. He had been in such a good mood when he woke up this morning, he had barely even thought of bashing anyone's skull in. It had been a strange feeling, but a nice one. Now Mike had to ruin it, Rick had to shove his big fat opinion into everything and imply he was gay when he had just gotten off with a bird the night before! He hopped the couch and gave Rick a swift kick, letting out a strangled sigh.   
   
He stomped back to the table, grabbing SPG from his perch on top of the fridge (the creature protesting loudly) and yelled that he was, "SO BLOODY BORED!" He stomped up the steps to his room, acting like a violent child as he slammed the door shut.   
   
Rick held his ribs and squirmed on the floor, but no one seemed to notice. The flatmates were extremely good at ignoring each other when it was necessary. Mike went back to his newspaper. Neil pulled the wooden spoon out of the lentils. He watched it crumble away, leaving the hippie holding just the handle of the spoon. Neil seemed pleased with this result and he called out: "tea's ready!"   
   
A few hours passed, and Vyvyan lay on his bed, listening to records on the second turntable he had stolen from Rick. After the houses' necessary burning of all things combustible in the winter, Vyvyan had made a point of quietly buying another one with money obtained from selling Neil's gem collection. He had left it for Rick to find, and once he finished bragging about his treasure finding skills and how amazing he was, Vyvyan had swept in and taken it. After a Cliff Richard vinyl was snapped over Rick's greasy hair, he stopped arguing over who owned the turntable. The music was loud, raw and surprisingly emotional, helping him to ignore the stomach pains and growls that pained him. The lentils Neil had made would help, but he was still too angry at Rick to go downstairs and not throttle his last breath out of him.   
   
How dare Rick call him gay! How dare Mike say he couldn't go after a chick! His might as well live with his Mum! Frustration filled him and with frustration came balled fists and gritted teeth. The song changed to a song made for crowds of younger people rebelling against the government; the monarchy. He sat up and stared at the turntable as if he could see the words coming from the speaker. He yelled and threw a glass bottle across the room, just missing SPG, who swore at him and dove into his cage. There he quickly continued shredding Neil's shirt sleeve. He jumped off the bed, kicking the table near the door. He threw the needle off the vinyl with a screech, exploding through the door and sending shards of wood everywhere. He kicked the doorframe viciously with his boots for good measure before storming down the steps.   
   
Neil was just about to put the bowl of lentils down on the table for himself, when Vyv appeared around the corner and snatched it out of his hand. He shoved Rick off his seat at the table, who muttered something about manners. Sitting down he dug into the food, spooning it into his mouth and ignoring the taste, texture and, well, everything about it. It was like eating a mixture of wallpaper paste and battery acid. Compared to some of the potions the punk had consumed this was bland. At least it didn't make his hair fall out or turn him into an axe wielding homicidal maniac.   
   
He glanced out of the corner of his eye. Neil was standing at the counter, focused on scraping out a bowl into the sink that had contained the same lentil concoction weeks ago.   
   
"Ok, so I was thinking right, we really need to get some washing up liquid. I saw a plate trying to leave on his own, right, it wouldn't stop moving! Now this bowl is all crusty and not usable and I might not be able to eat! Not that anyone cares..."   
   
"Finally you're right about something Neil, we don't care." Mike was looking through the swimwear section of a department store catalogue, turning pages and smiling at the models. He kept flipping pages. "If you have the dough Neil you can buy whatever you want, you dig me? But Mike doesn't spend unless there is something in it for Mike."   
   
Vyvyan ignored Mike and Neil's conversation, turning his attention to Rick. He didn't want to give him attention, but he was still so angry. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to kick out at Rick as he attempted (tried?) to stand. Rick stumbled and Vyvyan flailed his boot out, scrunching up his face when Rick managed to stand. He straightened his own posture in the chair. "I really hate you Rick." Vyvyan said, setting the bowl aside and leaning back in the chair.   
   
Rick had scrambled to his feet, angrily dusting himself off again before crossing his arms across his chest, trying to shake the general unease written on all his features as he avoided Vyv's boot. "Very mature, Vyvyan, but you can't fool me. I know why you're mad!"   
   
Rick looked smug but still worried, Vyvyan knew that look very well. He narrowed his eyes and toyed with his nostril piercing like a bull wanting to charge. He was curious how Rick could know something when Rick didn't know anything. "Oh, please Rick do tell!"   
   
"You fell in love! Vyvyan loves a GIRL! You've been upset since she left! One shag and she has you wrapped around her wittle finger!"  
   
Vyvyan snorted and shook his head as he stood up from the chair. He took the now empty lentil bowl in his hand and bringing it down hard on top of Rick's head. The bowl shattered, pieces flying everywhere. Droplets of blood appeared on Ricks face where the jagged points cut his cheek and forehead. Rick swayed with the force before crumpling to the floor. Vyvyan stepped over his unconscious body, walked to the television set and turned it on before sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.   
   
"Next up on BBC 2, it's Bastard Squad."   
   
His favourite program was on, and Rick was quiet. He should be happy, but something didn't sit right. He didn't enjoy doing hurting Rick nearly as much as he usually did. Maybe something **was** wrong with him.


End file.
